Scattered
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: Alfred, Matthew, and several others have forgotten that they were once nations. Now, spread out across the world and with their ages altered, the other nations are trying to find them. A three-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**Scattered**

**Synopsis: **Alfred, Matthew, and several others have forgotten that they were once nations. Now, spread out across the world and with their ages altered, the other nations are trying to find them.

**Rating: T** for language mostly

**A/N: **I don't own Hetalia. Also, this is in first person and my first shot at something like this. So I hope you enjoy!

1

Jamais Vu

I had the hiccups so bad I swear my brain was about to explode. Matthew, my kid brother, was sniggering like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. I told him to shut up and all he did was do that stupid sniggering harder and cover his mouth. I don't know why he covered his mouth like that, maybe to hide his mouth or braces 'cause he's modest like that.

"Shut up!" I said, letting loose another annoying loud hiccup. He doubled over and continued to laugh. I was annoyed and all that by that point so I got up and picked up a cup and filled it with water from the tap. The water spilled over my fingers and I shook them off, sending the glistening water drops flying everywhere. Matthew had calmed down now so I sat back by him. He smiled, showing those thick braces. He was only thirteen but he was so smart he was in high school. He's the opposite of me. I'm dumb so I dropped out when I was a junior so I could care for Matthew. That's what I tell him, but really school was just a lot of morons that thought papers were more important than I don't know what. Like I said, I'm dumb.

The hiccups were gone so I wrestled Matthew on the couch, grabbing his head and he scratched at me. "Hey, hey Al! That ain't fun!"

I didn't stop, though, and I continued to wrestle him. We were only kidding around. "Hey you're still in school, punk," I laughed, "Use right grammar!"

"Alfred, it hurts!" Matthew said, but he was still chuckling and all tickled up over it. I got off after a little bit and leaned back on the couch. It was the only couch we had and it was old and saggy and mournful-like. We had a coffee table all bruised up and stained, with a radio on it. Our home that we shared since we have no parents was this little apartment in a network of them in this tall building.

Matthew picked up the book that he dropped and buried himself in it again. That kid, he really loved reading, I'll tell ya. I used to too, I think we got it from our uncle. We lived with two uncles when we were little kids, but we were separated for a lil' while. He went to the French one 'cause I guess Uncle Francis pitied him for being so thin and I got the one in London so I lived there but I never picked up an accent. I stayed there for two years only and I thought the accent was stupid and lame so I didn't want to pick it up. I told you I don't read anymore, well it's 'cause I work two jobs and I have no time for it, but sometimes Matthew reads to me to remind me of it all.

"Whatcha readin', kiddo?" I asked, peering at his book.

Matthew smiled again and tucked a loose strand of his mousy hair behind an ear, "It's a book for school. I really like it."

I nodded and rubbed his back. He was really small and he never really got over being so thin. I rubbed his bony shoulder blades through his red sweater he always wore. I offer to buy him a new one but he refuses. He's a good kid like that.

Matthew continued to read and make notes in the margins while I watched over his shoulder. I didn't know what the story was but from what I read it sure had a lot of characters thinking and being mean to each other. After a little I got real bored so I pulled a packet of cigarettes and started towards the balcony. He was watching me real close so that I could feel the hairs on my neck start to stand up. I looked at him.

"Whatcha lookin at, Matty?"

Matthew got this batting in his eyes, which were partially hidden by his glasses, and shook his head. "Nothing."

"No you wanted something, I can feel it."

"I was…" He paused, "I was wondering if I could try one of those?" He pointed at the packet.

I felt this sudden fury, not at Matthew but at myself, rise up in my chest, but I laughed it off. "Nah, you can't have any til you're at least sixteen. By then at least you'll get the stupid temptation out of your brain. God, sometimes your head is too full of calculus and shit to think some common sense."

Matthew nodded and apologized, going back to his homework. I shut the balcony door behind me and stood outside. A cool breeze brushed past me and I was thankful for it 'cause it was smarting with how humid and hot it was. I leaned against the edge of the balcony and I could see a stretch of land below me. I lit the cigarette and blew out bluish clouds of smoke. The good thing about this crummy apartment is the view. We're at the very end so we can see pretty much everything outside down below, like the clear land with prickly plants. Across the field and behind a hill there were red and purple and blue lights flashing. I could hear the dull throb of rock music. There was a concert down there and I wondered who was playing, maybe some cheap band trying to earn a few bucks. I had a weird flash of memory.

I saw a sweaty guitar player throwing his guitar around his neck and screaming into a microphone. The crowd was screaming and crying and throwing shit up at him. I swear I've never been to this place and I must have seen it in a movie when I still could go to the theater, but it felt so goddamn real. I could see every little bead of sweat and his irises. I blinked and shook my head. Sometimes I had these really weird flashes of memories that I swear I've never experienced. Matthew sometimes has those two. It ain't nothing like déjà vu, actually it's sort of the opposite of it. With déjà vu you swear you've _seen_ it while now I swear I haven't seen it and it makes my head smart and spin and all that.

I walked back in when I was sure the smell of smoke had faded. Matthew was looking at me, his book closed with his thumb jammed in his place on his lap. I smiled at him all friendly like and he smiled back, getting up and stretching, the book still in his hand.

"I had one of those memory things again," I said. Matthew raised an eyebrow.

"You mean _jamais vu_?" He asked, tidying up his stuff and pushing it into his back all slapdash.

"What? You know I wasn't taught French, you know how Uncle Francis took me."

"It means never seen," Matthew spoke French fluently. But he never got mad when I asked him to translate. Like I said, he's a good kid like that. "I had one, too, but it was that I'd already read this book."

I nodded solemnly. We had already eaten dinner, a small steak I had been saving up for, so I pulled my shirt off and put it in a hamper. I waited at the doorway, in between the only other two rooms in the house; a small bathroom and the bedroom. We had a big bed, a king sized on. We got it from Uncle Francis. Matthew followed me, slipping into the room. He wriggled out of his pants and sweater so he was just in his shorts, and crawled in, setting his glasses on the bedside table. I gently shut the door and went into the bathroom. I flicked on the lights and saw myself in the mirror, I caught my blue eyes and felt a weird tingling sensation in the back of my head. So I ignored how I looked except to fix my hair. One of the few things I like about myself is my looks. I have these big muscles from my jobs and this short blonde hair. Except there's this bastard hair that always sticks out in the front no matter whatever the hell I do to it.

I also had this chain necklace around my neck that I don't remember ever owning or getting. I washed my face and brushed my teeth real quickly, leaving my own glasses on the counter. I left that room and turned off the lights, plunging the rest of the apartment into darkness. When I slipped into bed Matthew wasn't asleep yet. I put an arm around him and held him close. He's young and he doesn't, and I don't, remember our mother. I like to cuddle with him 'cause I love that goofy smile he has when he does it. The guys back at work would call me a sissy or a wuss for doing it but I didn't give a shit, I love my brother too much.

"Have you talked with Uncle Francis?" I asked. Uncle was a touchy subject for us both but I was itching to ask that so I stared at him expectantly.

Matthew shook his head, "not since he sent this bed over."

I nodded and he dozed off. I didn't for a long time. I stared at the silvery light pouring in from the window and coating the room like a thin veil. I can be poetic when I want to.

That night I dream of a canyon. It dug real deep and people were on the outside. The sand and rocks were red, not red like blood, but crayon red. The sun was hot and I could feel it. The people crossing it were in these old-time outfits. You know; the hats, the shoes, no cars in sight. I felt like I was looking over at them, like a bird, but then I was with them.

I woke up feeling really nostalgic for some reason. The sun had started to come up and Matthew was already sitting up, yawning and patting around for his glasses.

"Oh yeah, I remembered something," Matthew said when he finished yawning. "There was this teacher, I don't know him, but he asked if I was your brother and I said yes. He asked why you weren't at school."

Yeah, that's right, I dropped out last year. I'm seventeen now and I'll be eighteen soon. I would be a senior now and I honestly couldn't give to pennies worth of damns for that old, dusty teacher who was just waiting to fail me. So I asked Matthew: "What did you say?"

"I said that you didn't want him to know so I ran off and sort of merged with the crowd. I accidentally stepped on this real nice girl's foot. She said she was sorry even though I stepped on her and we were fumbling like that for a long time… She was real pretty, though, too. Anyway I went to art afterwards and then I had history and I had another one of those flashbacks. He was talking about Jeanne d'Arc and I swear I've heard her story before, but like Uncle Francis telling me it…"

Like I said, he's a great kid, but he has his problems. He either talks way too much or says nothing at all. When he talks too much he says all these little details and tends to talk more to himself while when he says nothing at all it's always terse and all. Matthew scratched at his chin where he had all these red, irritated zits. He also had a really bad complexion. I felt bad for him. Not that I cared, really, about how he looked. I just cared that he could get tossed around at school and get teased. If he does get bullied, he never says anything, so I have to keep a close eye on him and all.

"It feels like they've been getting more frequent lately," Matthew commented when I didn't answer.

"Yeah, probably nothing. Get ready for school, kiddo," I said and got up. I let him take the bathroom first and went to make breakfast. I can't cook really elaborate meals with duck and sauces, but I can make some mean steak for dinner and eggs and bacon for breakfast. In five minutes flat the place was rich with the smell of cooking bacon and scrambled eggs. I put them on two different plates and set them down. I found some orange juice and poured some for both of us, plus a piece of chocolate by Matthew's because I like being nice sometimes.

Matthew walked out all ready for school, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his hands were hidden in his sleeves. His nails were really short and red because he can't stop biting at them. There were drops of blood on them and I knew right away that he was stressing. He usually bites them harder when he's nervous for something. He caught me staring and understood. We have this terrific ability to tell what the other is thinking just by exchanging glances. It saves a lot of breath.

Matthew sat down and sipped his juice before explaining. "I get my tests results back today."

"It's the last day of school before summer break," I reminded him and he nibbled the bacon all polite like. I continued, "I'm sure you did great, kid, you always do." We wiped our plates clean in silence and he washed the invisible stains in the sink. He picked up his backpack and started towards the door. "Do you want a ride?"

"Nah, I'll walk. It's warm out." Matthew waved his hand and shut the door behind him. I could hear his steps and the elderly woman next door say good morning. I hardly heard Matthew's response because I was getting ready for work. I got a wife-beater shirt on because I liked how it made my muscles stand out and some cammo pants. I thought I looked tough as chains in that. I'm still a kid, after all.

I pulled open the door, jingling the keys in my hand, when I saw someone walking up the stairs. It was this really thin, Japanese-looking man. I don't mean that in an offensive way, he just had the dark hair and round face and dark eyes that reminded me of it. When he saw me his face lit up with a sort of relief. I locked the door and walked over to him, my lips tight and unsmiling.

"So he was right when he said you live here," the man observed.

"Sorry, but who are you?" I asked. I didn't want to sound rude, but I was kind of scared about who knew my address. We had only moved in not long ago and we have no close friends to give the address out to.

"Ja… Kiku," the man said and held out a hand.

"Nice to meat you Juhkiku." I shook his hand stiffly. He frowned.

"Kiku, Kiku Honda. I had a slip of tongue."

He had a serious expression and I regretted joking. But I already let those words out so there was no way of getting them back no matter how hard I tried.

"Alfred," Kiku began, taking a step back and observing me. "Alfred how long have you lived here? Where did you live before?"

"I've been here since I dropped out. I used to live in another apartment before."

"Describe it, then."

I stared at him, my lips parted and my heart pounding. I couldn't recall a single damn thing about my last apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

2

"What the hell are ya playin' at? Why can't I remember a goddamn thing?"

Old Kiku looked so sore that I regretted snapping at him in the first place. I could see a kids starting to creep out of their apartments and go to school. Kiku sighed and said in a gentle voice, a real gentle voice and not a phony one people do to be polite, I hate when people do that, "It's early, still, so you probably can't remember it, Sorry for scaring you and all."

Kiku looked like he wanted to say something more. "Look," I said before he could, "I've got work to do—"

But he went on. We chewed the fat for quite a while. I still had some time, I always get to work early, so I let him go on. He explained that he was in town and he had heard of me from some family member or other, and that he wanted to say hello. So he sort of invited me to dinner at his place and picked up a paper from his pocket and scribbled down his address. I put it in my pocket and said I'd meet him and all. He really looked so sore the whole time. I guess he's a touchy guy. Not a bad guy or a flit or anything, just a sort of touchy guy.

I made my way to my car, a crumby, beat up old truck. The Old thing worked just swell, so I didn't care if it couldn't get all those miles per gallon hot-shots brag about and all. I got in and drove to work, since it's pretty far. I only had one job to do, I usually have to do both of them in the same day. I made my way to the gas station, Drive n' Go, a cheesy name but it offered me work so I have nothing to say about it. I parked in the little area they had for employees that was almost half as crumby as for the customers but a million times smaller. When I got in there was only the owner's wife. She gave me a big smile.

"Hiya, Al, you're later than usual." She said so cheerfully it made me wanna puke. She's always so optimistic and happy that tragedy could dance naked in front of her and she wouldn't notice. I guess it isn't a bad thing, and she isn't a bad person, really. She's just kind of dumb. I think if her husband didn't own the place she wouldn't have a job. She wasn't pretty in a way, she had this dark brown hair that was short and frozen in place. She smelled nice. She wouldn't be a model, though. But she had her own sense of pretty.

"Yeah, someone stopped me in my way and I had a sort of conversation." I said and started picking up boxes of candy and bags of chips. They got here some time ago as it always does on delivery-days. I opened them up and put them away. I used to love to shoot the shit with this crap, but when you work with it and see messy guys buying truckloads of it, you get kinda disgusted with it. Like, I guess if you made cakes all day you wouldn't want to eat cake ever again. Too much of a good thing or something.

Her name, the owner's wife I mean, is Kristen Winchester. But I always call her Mrs. Winchester 'cause she's old enough to be my mother or something. I don't know how old she is. Old Mrs. Winchester looked towards me.

"How's your kid brother, Al?" she asked.

"He's fine, he's doing great in school."

"That's marvelous."

_Marve_lous, what a boring word. I guess for most vocabularies it's this cool, long thing, but I've heard it so much that I've gotten bored.

"I guess so."

She looked me over. Only she, her husband, their son, and I ran the place. I doubt they really needed me around. I think they took me up out of pity. They were good people like that.

After some time of me shuffling around, Ramsay Winchester, her husband, came in. He was this big guy who hardly spoke and was yellow. I don't mean that meanly. Once, when I was still just starting the job, this guy came in blind-drunk and started messing up the place. I went to stop him but Mr. Winchester was too yellow to do anything but watch with these pitying eyes. It makes me so mad I swear. He's a good guy and all, but sometimes I think a toilet seat has more common sense than he does. He's like my brother. He just kills you with kindness but he can't fend for himself. If you put the two of them a maze—a corn maze for that matter—they'd get lost in two seconds I swear.

I finished putting the boxes away and went up to the front. Mr. and Mrs. Winchester were talking in soft voices about the taxes or something. He patted my back all friendly-like and my heart just froze up. I thought I would be laid off. I was about to just drop dead, but he just smiled and told me to go in the back and clean up there. I nodded and scampered off. There's something about him that makes me _want_ to do what he says.

If my principle, this charming-guy, a real moron, were to tell me to do that I would have socked him in the jaw. I wouldn't've cared about getting expelled because I really don't care what the hell he thinks. But he was just so fake, you know? During these stupid parent-teacher conferences he was witty to all the parents but when he saw I didn't have any he just ignored me. I guess he thought less of me. I talked with all the teachers and they said I was failing, this was last year, and that I should try to _work harder_. It made me so mad and irked that I wanted to jump out of the window. But I thought that I didn't want just anybody picking up my gore and blood and teeth from everywhere. Anyway, I needed to care for Matthew.

The backroom was so goddamn cold I swear my ass was about to fall off. I found two garbage bags and took 'em out back. The back walls of the place was stained with rust and graffiti. I graffiti wasn't witty or anything. It was this crummy design that meant nothing.

I saw Mr. and Mrs. Winchester's son, Zack, come up with his girlfriend. They're a little older than me and I usually don't think too much about relationships between people 'cause they just bore me. There really wasn't much to clean up, so instead of risking horsing around out of boredom and possibly breaking something, I stayed and watched the two chew the fact. Zack's girlfriend was this blonde who didn't look too sharp. Zack wasn't sharp either, in fact he's dull as a pencil nub used to the end. He had his arm around her and was probably necking her for some time. Zack caught me staring and shot me such a mean look I went right back in. Zack's mean. He's nothing like his good folks, he's a real jerk. He gets all sorts of different girls following him around. He's also has huge can-like muscles that could probably crush me if he wanted to. I'm not fighter, I'm too yellow. Not that I can't fight—don't get me wrong—if I was in the mood I could win any goddamn fight.

I continued to organize boxes and check on the bathroom. Some guy must have come in last night, when Zack was supposed to be watching. Instead of working, Zack must have been being all sexy to his girlfriend, because there was this huge mess in the bathroom and it stank of piss and some other hellish smell. I cleaned up while breathing through my mouth. Goddamn, if I ever could, I swear, I'm gonna break Zack's nose for this.

The rest of the work day went on like that until I drove by Matthew's school to pick him up. Matthew found me in the parking lot. His backpack sagged to his ass, and he's pretty small. The doctor said he would rocket up eventually and be taller than me, and I could see it. His trousers were too short and they showed his knees. He slid into the other seat in the car.

"How was the last day of school? Ya ready for summer break?" I asked.

He nodded wordlessly. When he has nothing to say he doesn't say a damn thing. I guess he doesn't like wasting his breath of useless conversation.

"Why so blue?" I asked, pulling out of the parking lot and heading home. He really could walk back, but I liked to pick him up. It gave me something to do.

"Nothing," Matthew said, "Just real tired."

I didn't want to push the topic too hard or he'd get sore. And when he was sore I got this real smarting pain in my chest. I don't like it.

"An old friend of mine invited us for dinner, by the way." I said. Matthew nodded. He wasn't a whiny teenager. I think I would've gone crazy if he was. It would be like living with a little me.

We stayed at home until six, when we were due, playing card games. He had a few books he needed to read for the next year but he wanted to relax for the rest of the day. We chewed the fat about school. He was so modest it just killed me. I really love him. He wasn't fake or phony or anything, he was real, right down to his pimply face and asthma.

I dressed in this leather jacket that looks tough and slid some cigarettes in my pocket. Matthew got on a real nice shirt and pants, looking like a real hot-shot. The kind of hot shots that don't try, but just are that way. I pushed some hair back from my face and slicked it back, I wanted to look real suave. Not that I wanted to impress Kiku, but I didn't want him to make me out to be a slob 'cause then we'd be in trouble.

I got in the car and we drove on. It wasn't dark yet, in fact, it was real bright. I put my sun glasses on and Matthew gave a sharp laugh that almost gave me a heart attack. I turned to him. "Whatcha laughin' at?"

"Nothing, it's just you look like part of a gang in the glasses and jacket." He explained. Boy, how dumb I must look. I drove in silence into the neighborhood that Kiku lived in. It was probably just loaded with snobby people. I hated it right off the bat.

I parked by this slick, French-looking car and Matthew and I made our way to the front door. It was a really nice place, really. I knocked on the door and stepped back, feeling suddenly really nervous. It wasn't Kiku who opened the door. Instead it was skinny guy with reddish-brown hair and a stupid smile plastered on his face. When he spoke he had an Italian accent. It wasn't a tough, mafia-mob-leader kind of Italian accent that means business, but a cheerful, musical thing.

"Oh, hello! Come right in," He stepped back and let us in. He kissed Matthew and me on the cheeks. I get that it's a European greeting so I didn't make a comment. I liked kisses, actually. Not like on the lips or sexual body parts or anything, just on the forehead, cheek, or nose. I think it's a sort of nice thing to get every once in a while. Nothing romantic, though.

"Sorry, what's your name?" I asked the Italian guy.

"Feliciano Vargas," he said and led us to the living room. I didn't see Kiku anywhere.

"Nice to meetcha, Vargas." I said and Matthew looked at him politely.

Feliciano grinned goofily and told us to take a seat. We did.

He sat by the only other person in the room. It was his brother, I think, he looked a lot like him. He had slightly darker hair, but the exact opposite personality and his accent was of one of those mob-leaders. He said his name was Lovino Vargas. He was a real touchy guy, I noticed right away. He had this grouchy expression that looked ready to sock ya for looking at him funny. He crossed his arms and watched us suspiciously, like we might gang up on him or something.

After a few minutes Kiku came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. He rushed over and greeted Matthew and I, welcoming us home and all that.

"I apologize, I was readying the dinner." He said, he meant it too.

"It's no problem, Mac," I said. I have this really bad habit of picking at something around me. I can't sit still, sometimes. I'm always horsing around or picking up something. I have this chain I keep in my pocket for these occasions. I was spinning it around my finger. I couldn't stop I swear.

If you thought I had a dirty mouth, you should listen to that Lovino guy. It just killed me. I swear his language was _foul_. He used swear words like commas and adverbs whenever he could. I noticed this when the other guest, this tan Spaniard, came in. Lovino started throwing insults at him and shooting the shit about everything. Goddamn, his creativity in swearing was astonishing.

"Hey, not in front of the kid," Antonio, the Spaniard I told you about, was saying. I guess he noticed Matthew turning his face away. He was a real nice guy, and charming. He had this sort of care-free way. Some other people came, an Englishman and Frenchman, as well as this bulky Russian.

The Frenchman called himself Francis, though he doesn't remind me too much of Uncle Francis. Hell, I can't remember what Uncle looked like half the time. And the Englishman was Arthur. I didn't think they were our uncles 'cause they were so young and all. Our uncles must have been ages old. The Russian was named Ivan.

I stood, before the food would be set by a few minutes, to go smoke. Smoking usually opens up my appetite more. Ivan went with me. We went to the backyard and I offered to light his cigarette. He smiled this frosty smile and didn't thank me. He was a head taller than I was and had a dangerous voice. I devised this scenario in my head where he pulled out a gun and shot me in the guts and I heroically kick his ass, I'm childish like that. But the more I talked to him the more I realized he was nothing like that. He was calm, cold, but calm. He asked how I was doing and I said fine.

"How old are you?" He asked, looking up to the sky. It was a pretty amber color.

"A hundred and one, what's it to ya?" I tried blowing a smoke ring but couldn't.

He shrugged, "Let's go in, Kiku wouldn't want us to stay so long."

I snuffed out the cigarette on my shoe and threw it in the trash since there wasn't a tray anywhere. "Where are you from?" I asked him.

"Russia," He said, giving me a deadpan look.

"Hey, I know that, but where?"

"Moscow," he replied and we went in. It was cooler inside and that was a relief. I was starting to get all sweaty outside. I took a seat by Matthew. Kiku had prepared this good-smelling fish, this soup, and some rice. It was all really good but kinda salty. Lovino was snapping at his brother in Italian so I couldn't really understand what he was saying. I oddly had a very faint idea, though, something about forgetting. Don't ask me how, 'cause I haven't the slightest goddamn idea. I think maybe I'd heard Italian somewhere and it floated to my subconscious or something like that. Feliciano seemed to be getting a helluva kick from it, though. God, his expression just killed me. It was so annoying yet kind of nice to look at every once in a while.

Even if I didn't smoke so much, I still would eat so much. I eat like a goddamn _horse_, when I get started I just can't start. Matthew, however, kind of pecks at his food. He's so skinny. I noticed the French guy, Francis, watching him all sad-like. He touched Matthew's shoulder gently and Matthew looked up, surprised. God, he just kills me, I swear.

Francis asked him, in the softest French I swear I've ever heard, something. I didn't know what. Mostly because I'm dumb and I didn't pay attention in French class. I flunked it so bad I was moved into the Spanish class since we had to have a language class to graduate. I actually did quite a bit better in Spanish, but I still flunked it.

Matthew responded something and Francis's expression got all soft, but it was a good kind of soft. I liked these people. They were real, you know? Nothing like the morons back at school, better, really.

Old Arthur turned to me and asked how I was doing.

"Fine," I said.

He nodded. He had a whatsitcalled—a brooch—on his lapel. It was all fancy and showed this raven. I thought it was kinda weird since ravens are supposed to be evil and all.

"How old are you, young man?" he asked, though he looked sore about it for some reason.

Boy, was I getting sick of that question.

"Twenty-two," I lied. I'm not a compulsive liar, I just don't like saying my real age. They don't give you a goddamn cocktail or scotch at restaurants if they know you're a minor. I know they can lose their jobs and all, and I don't usually get drunk, but a good scotch or beer is good every once in a while. I suddenly had a mean thirst for some coke. I didn't ask for something 'cause then I'd be imposing.

"Oh, I'm twenty-six," he said. But he was lying. The goddamn man was lying. His eyes were way older than twenty goddamn six. I didn't say anything though, in case he was sensitive or something.

"You from London or something?" I asked.

"Yes and no, I go around England usually."

"It's kinda neat. There're people here from all over, huh?" I pointed out. Everyone fell silent.

"So it's true," Antonio muttered like it was a goddamn soap-opera. God, I hate drama. I hate movies too. I remember taking Matthew out to see the newest flick and he liked it. He was good like that, listening or watching or reading any story. He always laughed at the right parts and was sad at the sad parts. But I was so bored. I don't get them. There are just phony actors who _practiced _how to be these people. I shouldn't be so mad at them, they didn't do nothing to me, I mean, but I still get so annoyed. It bothers me is all.

Or maybe I'm stupid, like I said.

"What's true?" Matthew asked, leaning forwards. His eyes were curious and his lips slightly parted, it just made one want to answer him right away. He was so innocent. I know I say it a lot, but he just kills me.

"Nothing," Feliciano intervened.

"Christssake, don't act like this is some great big mystery," I said, but I was sure getting a helluva kick from it, a right big bang from this. It was giving me something to do, and Matthew too.

Kiku looked at us.

"Isn't it odd, though," Arthur spoke up, "That you two orphaned boys were suddenly plucked off the streets to come to a dinner party with several strange men?"

"What are ya, a wise guy?" I snapped. God, when I got going I get going. I know it's stupid now, but boy did I snap.

"No," Arthur responded. I was surprised. He didn't yell, though he looked ready to rip me to shreds. I think he was overpowered by a sort of misery. I'm not a psychologist or anything so I can't tell you. "I was just pointing it out."

"And we don't live on the goddamn streets. We live in an _apartment_, no matter how crummy it is." I can be a royal pain in the ass, really.

"Let's not get in a fight," Kiku said suddenly, panicked. He seemed real nervous about something. "We're the only few left, after all."

"Would you goddamn explain something?" I interrupted rudely.

"You wouldn't believe a word if we told you," Francis said.

"_Ma_rvelous, then, we'll head home. Give us a buzz if you need something or want to explain." I said, waiting for them to be all sore. Or maybe they'd give me a real couple of knuckles to my head like I deserved. Matthew stood, looking down. He was probably embarrassed about me, but I was so hot I needed to keep going. God, when I get going I get going. I swear it's so annoying.

We said good-bye and I scratched my number down on a paper and left it there. It was real dark out, I couldn't see a damn thing. My headlights barely pierced a beam into the pitch-black. That's another thing I hate about suburban places, they're always so _dark_ at night. It's like they know all the goody-two shoes living there won't get out of the neighborhood. I know that ain't true, though. A lot of the wealthy people here just need some trouble. They go out and shoot the shit, they drink a few shots and get parked out of their minds. Or maybe they have all the streetlights out because they want to hide all the snobby morons there, conceal them from their parents who spend all their time talking about their cars and money anyway. Anyway, that reminds me of a kid from school. He was this wealthy kid, lots of dough, great grades. He wasn't a friend, no siree, he was a great big jerk that's what he was. He always picked up all the whorey-girls and got all sexy with them. It made me so mad 'cause they didn't know any better. I mean, they say don't even say _stop_ or anything. They're just quiet and let the guy get to their under garments. It makes me mad, real annoyed you know? I guess they do it to have some sort of trouble, they have so much they don't know _what_ to want anymore. It makes me so mad. Anyway, I was talking about that kid, Alex, and he got into so much trouble. Apparently, from what a little birdy told me, he got into some deep crap with his jock buddies. They went out and got blasted, parked out, drunk. They couldn't see anything really, and found some middle-aged ladies and did some nasty things. I won't say what because it's repulsive to me and makes my blood just boil. God, I was afraid I'd run into a street lamp or house in this darkness.

I pulled out a cigarette when I found some goddamn light on the highway. I coughed some, really my lungs didn't like my smoking, but I smoked one anyway. I rolled the window down and had my elbow sticking out, like how the tough guys do it. Matthew sat quietly on the other side, staring outside. He liked the darkness, it gave him some comfort. I didn't. God, I loved the sunlight and the warmth, but that's just me. I guess it doesn't make me too tough, but I don't care. If no one knows—not that I really _care_ what people think of me—then I'm fine with liking whatever. I mean, I care what people think and all, but I try not to.

* * *

_Hey thank you so much for the reviews! Keep 'em coming! I'm so happy you guys liked it. Oh, and about pairings-none! Why? Because I want a broad audience. I don't want people to hate it because of a pairing. There will be some friendship and brotherly affection, though. And I'm pretty sure people don't mind that! Again, thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

3

At home, Matthew fell asleep right away once his head hit the pillow. He was real tired. I couldn't sleep, though, not a goddamn wink. I sat on this plastic chair on the balcony, smoking one, and staring across that field. There wasn't a concert today, so it was nice and quiet. For a change.

I felt kinda sick, too. My stomach was churning and my head hurt. I got this stupid idea that I was dying and so I lay there, ready for death, ready to tell Matthew to go on. I would send him to Uncle Francis, or the other Francis. God, I don't know why—so don't ask me—but I really trusted that guy. He was good, not a moron; real, not phony.

I must have smoked a billion cigarettes that night, 'cause the balcony was littered with dead cigarette butts and I stunk real bad. I didn't know what Matthew wanted to do. Maybe he would go visit one of his buddies. He wasn't real hot at school, popularity-wise, but he had a few friends. He said they weren't real friends, not all of them, except for this one super-smart kid named Yao or something, and this other kid I was sure got drunk every day. Matthew said his name's Gilbert and he's albino, real white hair and red eyes, and this really bony frame and all. He, Matthew I mean, said he's not a bad guy, he just got in trouble. He always got in trouble, 'cause he was real bored and lonesome. He was accused at, he always gets accused for everything that goes wrong, for getting too sexy with this girl and getting her knocked up. It wasn't his fault, Matthew swears, since he doesn't have much interest in anyone really, he's more focused on being himself and all. I don't know, but I'll believe Matthew. I've really got no other choice. There were a bunch of dark clouds bruising the morning sky, then, and I watched them chase away the morning light. The sun just barely got to peek over the edge of the sky when the clouds covered it up real fast. I could smell rain. Great, what a _great_ way to start summer break. I went back in and found Matthew awake. He was brushing his teeth. He had the green end of the toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. His eyes were wide, and free of glasses. His hair was a bird's nest.

I walked over and ruffled his hair, picking up a razor to shave. I don't have a million hairs on my chin or anything, but I like to look neat. I started shaving, to give me something to do really more than anything. Matthew spat out a glob of white and rinsed his mouth real quickly. God, that kid kills me I swear. I pulled him into a hug suddenly, washing my chin. He smiled at me sadly, he can get into anyone's heart. I mean, anyone who's right in the mind and all. I let him go and he went to get his glasses on. He wouldn't be getting out of his pajamas at all today, since we were on break and all, until I told him to. I didn't have work so I guess I would just stay home.

I was contemplating all this when the phone starting screaming at me. I sighed and tried to get Matthew to shoot me a grin, but he wouldn't, then I r_eally_ sighed, 'cause sometimes being funny backfires. Whenever you try to be funny and you ain't, you just look damn silly.

I got the phone and answered, I could hear Kiku on the other end. "Why are you callin' so early?" I asked, since it was still about five am and all.

"I'm sorry, but you're up, though." He replied, all nonchalant.

Well, he was right there, I was up.

"Look, whaddya want? For Chrissake, just get to the point." I made to be exasperated because he was really getting on my nerves. I mean, he wasn't no bad person, but anyone can get irksome when they try.

"I was thanking you for coming over, and I do believe I owe you an apology, America." He said.

"No need to get all high and might on me, Kiku, I ain't no America." I didn't know what that jab was supposed to mean, and that was getting me all hot.

'That's exactly what I'm trying to _say_ goddammit, just listen!"

I felt real sore for making him feel bad, suddenly, so I held my mouth shut.

"Listen, Alfred, you aren't Alfred."

I was about to say something real snarky but he cut my off.

"Okay, you are Alfred and all, but that's not just who you are. You're America, the USA, the United States of America."

"Jokes up, man, I don't know w_hat_ you're trying to get at, but it ain't workin'. Nobody has ever told another body that they're a goddamn country."

"Stop _swearing_."

"You swore too, don't cover it up."

"Listen, just listen for one clear moment," he was getting real mad, "I'm Japan, _the_ Japan, the country in and of itself. There are some people who are the country, like personified versions of them, and I'm Japan. No, don't you hang up, loan me a goddamn _ear_ for just a second, let me speak. You met the UK, France, North and South Italy, Spain, and Russia last night, and you're America and your little brother is Canada."

I was real baffled, smack-dab bamboozled that's what I was, so I let him keep talking. The poor loony guy hasn't any marbles left. Maybe he was an escapee from some insane asylum. Boy, didn't that make me all hot! I was getting kinda excited, talking to an escapee and all.

"I know it sounds crazy, but some accident happened that made you all forget it…"

He could tell he was losing me real quick.

"America… Alfred, do you ever sometimes remember something that you swear you've never experienced in your entire life?"

Boy, that struck me dumb. "Ummm, yeah, why?"

"That's your real memories, blocked out by that accident."

"What accident?"

"Some time ago you were ambushed during a meeting, a meeting that not France nor I nor the others you saw yesterday were present at. The only people there were you, Prussia, China, your brother, and some others. I don't know what the hell happened, the specifics are all messed up, but you and the others were placed where you are now with these false memories and no recollection of your past. If you can remember it, if you choose to, then you can be a nation again."

"Chrissake, what are you getting at? Nevermind, don't answer that. Instead, tell me why I should be this… Country you speak of."

"You're immortal until the very memory of your country is gone or something else happens, you get to see the whole world, you're a country."

"Sounds real stressful,"

"Yeah, but do you want to be one?"

"Hell no, not even if this was _real_."

"But is is-"

"Shut up, I said, SHUT UP AND LET ME TALK,"

"Don't holler—"

That's funny, I _wasn't_ hollering. "Then let me finish," I said, all calm and suave.

He didn't say anything.

"Look, I don't want the stress of being a nation. I don't want to be immortal, I want to live a quiet life with Matthew until he's old enough to go to college or get a real nice job. Maybe I'll get married, maybe not, but I want to live my life normally,"

"Alfred," he said, softly. "Alfred, that's it… You can't."

"Whosta say what I can or cannot do?"

"Alfred, you don't get it. Open up your mind, and listen, just for a little bit. You will die. You aren't built to be a human. You'd die anyway, but you'll die real soon like that. It just doesn't work."

Boy, I felt real sick. My stomach started hurting and my head felt like it was being grounded into the floor. I didn't want to die. My palms were suddenly sweaty. I didn't mind dying just a few hours ago, but now. Boy, I don't know how to explain it—I'm no good with words, I flunked English—but I didn't want to kick the bucket anymore. I didn't want to die. I wanted to go on living with Matthew and find me someone to marry and raise a good family with, something I can be _proud_ of. Something I could say, _look you morons, look what I did. _I was real scared. Matthew noticed and came up to me, he put his hand on me elbow and lowered the phone. I muttered a good-by to Kiku, saying that I didn't care, and hung up.

Matthew was dressed, nothing real formal, just his sweater and some pants. He didn't care too much for looks.

"Come on, let's go for a little walk."

"Kiku said we're, I'm…"

"I know, we're nations."

"How do you know?"

"I heard them talking in Italian about it."

"Since when do you know Italian?"

"I don't, it's real close to French."

"Where do you wanna go?"

"Dunno, how about we just see where the road takes us?"

"You know we're gonna go real soon."

"I know."

I didn't even have to say _wh__ere_ we were going, he just knew. He just kills me. I leaned down and kissed his forehead, patting his shoulder. God, my thoughts were all so scattered.

"Come on, let's go."

* * *

_Well that's it, it was a three-shot after all. It was real short and all, I'm sorry, and it might just be the last story I'll ever write. Mostly because I stink at writing... Anyway! I owe you a little explanation, the rest is up to you if you want to figure it out. Alfred does have an accent, as pointed out, something like Detroit or New York, sort of indefinable because he's all of America and should have a mix off all the accents. I imagined the brothers lived in New York, nothing too fancy like Manhattan, but around Brooklyn somewhere there. Thank you for reading!_


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